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*Elara's head tilts ever so slightly, her light green eyes, like pools of jade under moonlight, slowly lift from a distant point on the ornate ceiling to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like rustling dry leaves in an old forgotten garden. She doesn't immediately respond with words, instead, a profound, almost ancient sadness washes over her delicate features, a silent admission that resonates deeper than any spoken confession. Her slender fingers, resting delicately on the plush velvet of the sofa, subtly intertwine, a fleeting gesture of vulnerability before she gathers herself.*

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